


all my days, i'll know your face

by bellawritess



Series: malum prompts [3]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rating for Language, and one is not, calum's a security guard lol, confusing to tag this kind of thing when one is famous, like michael's a celebrity, one extremely passing mention of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “This is bullshit,” the Michael Clifford lookalike says. He’s wearing a five around his neck and he looks positively enraged about it. “You’re telling me I lost a lookalike contest formy own face?Do you even know who this contest is for?I’mMichael Clifford! I can’t lose a lookalike contest against myself!”
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: malum prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026381
Kudos: 10





	all my days, i'll know your face

**Author's Note:**

> **prompt:** “i just lost the Celebrity X Lookalike Contest (I AM Celebrity X) and threw a tantrum about it, you’re the security guard who escorted me out and doesn’t believe me” au
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/618058896282714112/i-just-lost-the-celebrity-x-lookalike-contest-i)
> 
> title from everything has changed by taylor swift

Calum’s done security for plenty of these events, but he’s never seen a blowup quite like this one.

“Sir,” the host (Jeff) says, “please step off the stage.”

“This is bullshit,” the Michael Clifford lookalike says. He’s wearing a five around his neck and he looks positively enraged about it. “You’re telling me I lost a lookalike contest for _my own face_? Do you even know who this contest is for? _I’m_ Michael Clifford! I can’t lose a lookalike contest against myself!”

Calum squints. He supposes Michael #5 looks roughly like the real Michael Clifford — not that Calum, like, _knows_ what he looks like, not that he follows him on Instagram or likes all of his Tweets or anything like that, because Calum is a normal 24-year-old man — but some of the other Michaels onstage have him beat. And anyway, Calum’s pretty sure Michael isn’t even in Sydney today. His show isn’t until tomorrow. (Not that Calum would know. He’s not going.)

(Not on his measly security guard paycheck, anyway.)

“Sir, we appreciate your participation in the contest, but if you don’t calm down we’ll be forced to remove you from the premises,” Jeff says, belatedly realizing he’s speaking into the microphone. Michael #5 laughs wildly.

“This is insane! I literally have my driver’s license right here, I can prove it. I’m actual Michael Clifford and you’re going to let this —” he grabs the number plate of the winning Michael (Michael #12) — “ _this_ guy win “Best Michael Clifford lookalike”? This contest is not, by the way, Michael Clifford-approved!”

“Security,” Jeff calls, and that’s Calum’s cue. He heads for the stage as Michael #5 looks around and seems to realize he’s not going to win this battle. Calum watches that thought pass over him and sees him decide not to care.

“Brilliant,” Michael #5 says, “call security on me, _the real Michael Clifford_. Look, it’s not a fame thing, honestly, it’s just a pride thing. You can’t say you know what I look like and then let me _lose_ in a _lookalike_ contest for _myself_.”

This guy’s really lost it, Calum thinks. He really, properly thinks he’s Michael Clifford. But the brown in his roots has grown too long. It can’t be him. 

“Sir,” Calum says, hoping he won’t have to use force. Michael #5 may not be the real Michael Clifford, but he’s just as pretty, and it would be a shame to hurt him. Calum’s not above it, but he’s largely opposed. “Please step off the stage and come with me. I won’t ask again.”

Michael #5 groans. He sounds frustrated. Calum thinks he’s a little bit crazy. “This is insane,” he says again, but at least he gets off the stage. “Congratulations, Michael #12. Are _you_ Michael Clifford?” Michael #12 shakes his head. “Thought not,” Michael #5 mutters as Calum puts a hand on his shoulder and guides him to the exit. He’s almost embarrassed for Michael #5. Calum’s more of a fade-into-the-background kind of guy. He’d never have a meltdown like that, and certainly never over such a delusion.

Michael #5 turns to Calum as they leave the building. “You don’t have to hold on to me, I’m not going to make a break for it,” he says bluntly. Calum lets go. “I am Michael Clifford, you know. Those guys don’t believe me, _for some fucking reason_ , but why would I lie?”

“If you were Michael Clifford,” Calum says, disbelieving, “why would you enter a Michael Clifford lookalike contest?”

Michael #5 throws his hands up and laughs incredulously. “For fun! To see what would happen! Look, some of those people really did look like me. But I swear up and down, I _am_ Michael Clifford.”

Calum shakes his head. The inside silence had felt like everyone was holding their breath (which they all had been), but the quiet outside is peaceful, and the cool air of the night feels like a refreshing reboot on Calum’s brain. He’s been sitting in there, watching contest after contest, for what feels like forever. He needs water. Or a smoke.

“To be fair, you do look like him,” he says kindly. This seems to further upset Michael #5. “If I were in charge, you’d have won.” Michael groans and rubs his face, aggrieved. “Look, mate, I’m really not trying to step on your parade or — I mean rain on your parade, or whatever. If it’s, if it makes you feel better to, like, _embody_ Michael Clifford, I’m not going to be the one to stop you.”

Michael #5 looks like he’s at war with himself, stuck somewhere between entertained and dismayed. “Jesus Christ, I’m losing it. What’s your name?”

“Calum,” Calum says, because whatever. Calum’s a common enough name that if Michael #5 turns out to be a maniac, he should still be safe. And he feels a little badly for this guy, to be honest. 

“Calum,” Michael #5 says, “I swear on my life that I am really Michael Clifford. I can call Ashton — my manager, Ashton Irwin — right now and have him confirm it. I can literally call _James Corden_ and have him tell you, if that’ll make you believe me.” He sounds desperate. A very, very small part of Calum thinks, _what if it is him?_

 _It’s not,_ the majority of Calum’s brain insists. _It can’t be._

_Yeah, but you’ll be really humiliated if it turns out to be him._

“Michael Clifford’s not due in Sydney until tomorrow,” Calum says, ignoring the voices. He’s almost embarrassed to know that, but it’s not like Michael #5 _doesn’t_ know that. Anyone who’s willing to go to such lengths to pretend to be rockstar Michael Clifford is clearly acquainted with his schedule.

Michael smirks. “Oh, so you know my schedule to the minute, then? Coming to the show?” 

If this were the real Michael Clifford, Calum wouldn’t engage. But it’s just some random person who’s had a bit too much to drink, maybe, or a few too many fantasies, so whatever. It’s better than sitting in there watching the next lookalike competition (Selena Gomez), even if that is technically his job. 

“No, I wish,” he says. “Like I can afford concert tickets on my salary. Are you going?”

Michael #5 sighs heavily. “I’m performing, mate. It’s my show.”

“You’re awfully committed to the role,” Calum remarks. “I have to say, I admire your persistence. What’s your name?”

“My name is Michael Gordon Clifford, and I’m embarrassed for you,” Michael #5 tells him, which is funny, because Calum had been thinking the same thing about him. “God, this is literally the strangest day of my life. I thought it would just be a laugh, enter, see what happens. What can I do to prove it to you that I’m the real Michael? Can I show you my license? Will that do it?”

Calum thinks. He’s seen his fair share of fake IDs, but some people are willing to go to great lengths to pretend to be someone they’re not. And Michael #5 had been willing to use it as evidence against the host, so it’s probably a prop. 

Michael #5 has already taken out his license, though, and is holding it in Calum’s face. “Please, _please_ believe me,” he begs. “I’m starting to lose my sense of self, honestly.”

“What does it matter if I believe you?” Calum asks, looking bemusedly at the driver’s license in Michael #5’s hands. “I’m just security.”

“Well, for one, you’ve been nicer to me than anyone else here,” Michael #5 says. “And for another, I’ve never been flat-out told that I’m not the person I am. So that’s weird. Admittedly, I’m not used to anonymity on this level, and it probably won’t last very long. But moreover, I was going to invite you to my show. You know. The actual show that I actually have tomorrow, at Sydney Opera House, where I’ll be performing my own music.”

Calum takes the license and looks closely at it. He’s a very good security guard, he likes to believe. And he can tell when an ID is fake. He _can_.

This one is absolutely real. _Michael Gordon Clifford_ , it says, and then a picture of this guy — of Michael — 

Oh, holy shit.

Calum looks up, and Michael #5 — no, this is Michael, _real Michael Clifford_ — is looking expectantly at him.

Somehow, all he can think to say is, “You were right. I’m extremely embarrassed.”

Rock star Michael fucking Clifford laughs at him, amiably. “Oh, that’s alright,” he says. “You seem like you’ve had a long day.”

“The longest,” Calum agrees, somewhat dazed. “You think that was boring? Imagine sitting through seven hours of that.”

“You should try my job,” Michael says.

“Oh, I did,” Calum says. “Didn’t really take off for me. Way to complain about fame and fortune, though. I really pity you.”

“Hey, you didn’t even think I was really me,” Michael shoots back. Which. Fair enough. “Wow, I must have sounded like an asshole, huh? That’s not me, I swear. I’m usually super chill. It’s just…imagine entering a contest for Calum lookalikes and losing. Wouldn’t that just throw you?”

“You weren’t so bad,” Calum says, and then amends, “Okay, you were a little bad, but only because nobody believed you. In retrospect, your anger is justifiable.”

Michael looks gratefully at Calum. “Thanks.”

Okay, Calum’s cool. Calum’s totally relaxed. He’s just having a chat with his _favorite musician of all time_. This is fine. Calum’s a security guard, for fuck’s sake. He’s practically known for being stoic. That’s his whole gig.

He tries a smile. Okay, he’s not cool at all. Michael is gorgeous and Calum is _weak_ and he doesn’t even know how to talk. He can’t remember any words. Relevant topics. Calum sifts desperately through his brain. “Uh, you’re in Sydney early?”

Michael laughs again. It’s a wonderful sound that Calum’s heard many times in radio interviews and the like, but never in person. He wants to hear it again and again forever. “Yeah, well. It’s home, you know? And I didn’t have anything else going on. Plus, I heard about this,” he gestures vaguely behind them to the building which is housing the lookalike contests, “and thought it’d be a good time. You know. Funny prank, or something.”

“That went well,” Calum says, joking.

Michael shrugs. “Could’ve gone worse. Met you, didn’t I?”

Well, if Michael’s trying to _stop his heart_ , he’s succeeded. “I’m not,” Calum says. His tongue fails him. He tries again, smiling feebly. “I’m not, uh, usually the one people are excited to meet, out of the two of us.”

“Well, I’ve already met me,” Michael says. “And honestly, I could take me or leave me. You’re nice, though. And very handsome, which helps.”

Calum hums. “I thought Michael #12 was a bit better-looking than you.” _Oh, don’t mind me, just FLIRTING WITH MICHAEL CLIFFORD OVER HERE._

Michael fakes looking hurt, impressively well. “Unbelievably rude of you. Here I am, being charming and delightful, and you say that shit?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Calum says. Michael eyes him suspiciously, but Calum can’t resist: “Michael #8 actually did it for me.”

“That’s it,” Michael says. “I take back the invite. You can sit at home and eat chips and feel sorry for yourself tomorrow night.”

“What invite?”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “The…the show, Calum. I was serious. Unless — if you were joking about wanting to come…” This time he really does look hurt, and does a bad job trying to hide it.

“No,” Calum says hastily. “No, no, I meant it, I just — I thought _you_ were joking. Of course I’ll come, that’s — that would be amazing.”

Michael bites his lip. “If I asked you to get dinner tonight, is that too forward?”

“Too forward?” Calum echoes, because that’s the only part of that sentence he’s able to process without his brain melting.

Michael nods. “Yeah, like. We just met, and you’re a fan, which is cool, but you just, honestly, seem like a really good guy. And you’re cute. I’m not trying to leverage power or anything because you like my music. You can totally say no, I won’t, like, have another meltdown. Just, I don’t know. I guess I could stand a few more good guys in my corner.” He looks down at his shoes, scuffing the ground.

It makes Calum (the part of Calum that’s still chugging along and not frozen solid at being _asked_ on a _date_ by Michael Clifford) wonder if Michael is lonely, or something. He’s clearly nervous. He’s _nervous_. He’s Michael Clifford, and he’s played to sold-out stadiums hundreds of thousands of times, and he’s standing here, _nervously_ asking Calum on a date. 

“I’d love to,” Calum says sincerely. Michael’s face lights up. “But, uh, I work until midnight. So unless you want, like, midnight pizza…”

“Midnight pizza is exactly what I want,” Michael declares. He glances back at the building. “You should probably go back in, right? Without me, since you were supposed to escort me out and, like, discipline me.” 

“ _Discipline_ you? What do you think my job is?”

Michael waves him off. “It’s fine. Here, let me give you my number. You can just call me when you’re done here.”

Calum tries to blink the stars out of his eyes as he unlocks his phone and hands it to Michael. Michael puts his number in and says, “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Calum says. “I’m starving. Midnight pizza sounds fantastic.”

“If one of the other Michael lookalikes showed up in my place, you reckon you’d notice?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Calum says. “None of them are as pretty as you.”

Michael blushes, lips wide in a smile, and Calum had been kidding, but now he really means it; there’s no mistaking the sheer beauty of Michael Clifford. There never will be again.

(When he goes back in, the other security guard, Emily, gives him a sympathetic smile, and Calum almost breaks down laughing.

“Sorry you got stuck with the crazy one,” she says, grimacing.

“Oh, that’s alright, he turned out to be more misunderstood than anything,” Calum says cryptically. “But we worked it out.” Emily looks confused, and Calum grins. “You can take the next one.”)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


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